


His Next Gig

by Chichirinoda



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anonymous Sex, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game is long behind them, and trolls and humans live together on the same world. Cronus is just trying to make a living, in whatever way he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Next Gig

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kink Bingo 2013! For the prompt Prostitution/Sex Work.

The pale foundation on his face had run, much of it winding up on the ragged sleeve of his shirt when he wiped off the sweat that had formed under the lights. Now the grey skin showed underneath. Of course, no makeup can hide the fins on his face, or the jagged horns jutting from his gelled hair. 

But that's okay. It's all part of the act - the show he puts on as often as he can get a gig. The troll who wants to be human.

In every dive bar, dirty pub, and empty park in the city, he and his backup group had performed. He sang his songs about love - love of the human variety, pity of the troll variety, even hate. The humans liked the love songs, and thought the songs about hate and pity were interesting, but they didn't understand them. they didn't really understand anything.

And they thought he was cute, when he showed up on the stage in pink foundation, with his loose shirt, artfully ripped to give peeks of the bright purple slits of his gills, and the tightest jeans he could find.

The gigs were great. People laughed and clapped and sometimes talked through his songs. And when he sang, he felt alive.

But singing didn't pay the bills. Not all of them. He'd get a couple of bucks from the venue, and sometimes, a few beer-soaked tips thrown on the stage, or shoved into his water glass - or on one memorable occasion, pushed into the waistband of his jeans. 

All that barely covered the rent. It didn't buy his food, or the cigarettes he'd gotten himself addicted to once he'd come back to life and accordingly regained the ability to breathe. And it especially didn't cover the other things that he sometimes resorted to, to drown the loneliness in a pleasant haze. So he had to resort to other sources of income.

He hadn't caught this one's name.

Their hands tug at his jeans, fumbling, drunk. The skin revealed when his jeans finally peel off and are tugged down, is totally free of any makeup. Cronus doubts he really noticed.

The cheap hotel room mattress squeaks as he kicks off his boots, and arches his back, letting the human pull his jeans off completely. He lets his legs fall open, and the human draws in a breath. "Fuck. You're really like one of those she-males."

"I'm nothing like that, chief. Forget about she-males. I'm wvay beyond anything you'vwe evwer seen." Cronus reaches out and picks up his cigarette from the bedside table, and takes a drag. "Look wvhat I can do." Smoke drifts lazily from his gills.

That wasn't the greatest idea he'd ever had in his long life. The look on the man's face tells him he's about a second from changing his mind and bolting to find a nice human boy instead, without paying him first. 

Cronus drops the cigarette into the ashtray and sits up, catching the man's wrist. He smiles and presses a kiss to his palm, smiling up at him from under his eyelashes, and careful to keep his fangs hidden.

His companion's eyes thaw a little. Perfect. Cronus does have the touch.

"Nowv," Cronus purrs, laying back down. "You aren't going to get squeamish on me, are you?"

The eyes harden again. "Hell no. I'm not squeamish. I'm paying good money for this shit."

Cronus closes his eyes and tries not to wonder if he's only here for a dare. Maybe his friends put him up to it. 'Yeah, go fuck the troll. Go find out what freaky junk he keeps in those skinny jeans of his.' Probably this guy's never been so close to one in his life.

But he doesn't seem to be having trouble getting it up, squeamish or not.

His cock enters Cronus' nook quickly, giving the troll a start as it pushes him open hard and a little painfully. He's wet, but not very, and the passage is pretty narrow, built to accommodate the coils and writhing of a pliable bulge, not the thick hard shaft of a human male member. 

Cronus hisses though his teeth, drawing in his breath and digging his claws into the mattress as he struggles to relax. The man groans and begins to thrust with a single-minded rhythm, while Cronus arches and writhes under his weight, his fins flicking open and shut, and struggles to breathe through it.

Slowly, slowly he relaxes and the lubrication in his nook begins to smooth the way, the muscles of his passage loosening and widening. His bulge coils around the base of the man's cock, squeezing and eliciting a startled gasp from his companion, which shivers into a moan as it begins to toy and coil around his balls.

Human/troll mating works out...pretty damn okay. At least, when you know what you're doing.

Too soon, the human shudders and releases, his paltry spurts of fluid filling Cronus' nook before the man pulls out, panting for breath and zipping up his pants.

Cronus' bulge writhes and coils against his thigh, as the troll gasps and opens his eyes. He purses his lips and tries to control his breathing, struggling not to freak out right about now.

"Thanks," the man says, fumbling for his wallet. 

He doesn't seem to notice that Cronus didn't come, or maybe he doesn't care. Cronus grabs for his cigarette, sucks on it, but it's nothing but filter, and not even a wisp of smoke left. He tries to pretend otherwise, just lifting his fingers in a casual wave.

"Good time, chief. Guess I'll see ya around."

"Sure. Thanks."

A couple of bills flutter to the mattress, and Cronus reaches for them as the door slams shut, trying to ignore the ache in his nook, and the lingering need in his bulge.

Well, at least he can afford more cigarettes this month. He just wasted his last one.


End file.
